Lost Between The Lines
by Herdcat
Summary: Oneshot - explores the woman who fell victim to the Psi-corps before she ever set foot on Babylon 5 - and the story that we never learn because she never knew that it was missing. Series compliant - slight Talia/Bester


Talia Winters was a woman of refined tastes; she enjoyed expensive things and influential company, had done for as long as she remembered. For a woman raised amongst telepaths this inevitably came down to ranking – and here her looks opened doors. Oh they _said_ that telepaths were all on the same side, but the truth was unless you had a certain rating you would always be a second class citizen.

As a P5, Talia knew she could not rely on rank, so her beauty was a powerful weapon for advancement -and if she derived some personal thrill from the power this gave her…was that really such a bad thing?

Smiling into her champagne, Talia took a moment just to savour her surroundings. To have secured an invitation to this event was no mean feat. At the very least it was an opportunity to make contacts that would help her with her career. At best it could be the first step in securing her future.

They were all here – the big names – and famous faces – the cream of Psicorps, and she was right here with them. Not only that, but she had already received some flattering attention. It was early days and she would need to be careful – behave with too much eagerness and she would lose her edge. That would not do - she had too much riding on this evening – fortunately it was a game that Talia played well – so she donned her customary smile – warm but with a trace of gently mockery, and let her mind brush over the crowds.

She felt a response a second later; an answering scan; polite, but powerful. She turned and found herself facing one of those names she had heard so much about; Alfred Bester the infamous Psicop.

He was watching her with an amusement that told her that her thoughts were not as private as she had imagined. She could not hide the flush of embarrassment (the curse of a P5) but refused to back down. She had worked too hard to get here, to win this measure of acceptance – she would not falter now.

He nodded with approval and extended a gloved hand.

'An unfamiliar face,' he noted aloud. 'Perhaps I can introduce you to my colleagues.' She hesitated – just long enough to pretend to be considering the offer.

His eyes flashed with unspoken amusement.

'That sounds lovely,' she said at last, accepting his arm. Bester was something of a celebrity – at his side she could be sure of meeting the all the right people. Besides if she was not mistaken – and she seldom was – his interest might extend beyond the night.

It was early days, but she thought that this evening had got off to a very promising start.

Bester had argued against the use of Talia in the reprogramming experiments, not that she would ever know it. The corps was mother, the corps was father, but sometimes parents would underestimate the potential of a child – it was then the responsibility of a dutiful son to correct their oversight. After all, his telepaths were rarer than diamonds, and so many cracked beneath the strain. To use up such a promising woman for a job that could have been allocated to any low rating teep was wasteful, and Bester hated to see an opportunity squandered.

'I am sorry my friend' Daniels had informed him without a trace of sorrow, or for that matter, friendship. 'But she matches the criteria. She is a P5, expendable. I can't make exceptions just because she happens to spread her legs.'

Bester must have broadcast something of his feelings then because Daniels took a step backwards, looking satisfyingly shaken.

'Look. I don't choose the names. But hey she is long term mole – if you wanted to continue to sample the goods I can even add a little something to the programming, maybe make her more compliant…' the leer on his face faltered under the weight of Bester's crushing silence. 'I guess I'll leave that up to you.'

He found excuses to be gone from the base for the next few weeks, accepting assignments that otherwise might have been handled by someone with less seniority. He chased down rogues with the same persistence that had made him a legend even amongst the so called blood hounds. -And when he caught them he showed even less restraint than was customary for him. After three dead blips, and one traumatised capture - (she had once been blonde, although her hair was now so filthy that it was difficult to tell, and she lacked the other woman's effortless refinement) he found himself called into the office of his supervisor.

'This has to stop,' the man had told him almost gently. 'I have been tolerant of your methods, defended you even against those who found your tactics distasteful. But even then you understood the need to keep some of your charges alive.'

'I have found my methods effective' he had answered stiffly. 'My results are incontestable.'

He sensed a refreshing blast of annoyance, before the man boosted his shields. Then he was on his feet, looming over Bester with all of his three additional inches of height.

'That might be relevant if it was your _results_ that I am questioning. I've been hearing troubling rumours, questions about your mental state. I have vouched for you, for now, but if your erratic behaviour continues, there may be nothing I can do. You have a habit of making enemies, and they have scented blood – you are a good cop, one of the best. It would be a shame to see that go to waste.

Now I understand that you are upset about the girl, but damnit you need to pull yourself together Al. She was what a P5? You know as well as I do that our work demands sacrifices.'

-And so Bester had forced himself to go and see her. The room was clean at least, and her skin bore no signs of physical violence. Seen from a distance she might have seemed alright, but he knew better. She did not react to his presence although she must have sensed it. He had lowered his shields as a courtesy to her. But when he reached out –to offer what he was not sure – comfort perhaps, or apology – her mind skidded away from his touch like a frightened rabbit. It didn't come as a surprise, in fact he had expected to find worse; most likely Daniels had shown some restraint as a concession to him.

'I did not want this for you,' he had told her. Then he had slipped inside her mind, moving with a surgical precision until every memory of their time together was erased. Only then, when he was certain that no trace of him remained did he withdraw.

Then he walked away – leaving what remained of her to her silent contemplation. It was the last time he planned to see Talia Winters.

But duty had other plans, and so a year later he found himself travelling across space to Babylon 5, in pursuit of a man called Ironheart. He had known it would be difficult, but what he had not counted on was how skilfully Daniels had done his work. Even knowing the truth – that his Talia – the real Talia had been destroyed in that cell on Mars – he still felt his heart tighten to walk into the room and come face to face with _her_. Because the woman who rose to greet him _was_ Talia Winters, down to the self-assured half smile.

Bester knew that he was staring - at this elegant ghost wearing the soul of his lover. That the corps had stripped his Talia of everything – because he had seen it – until all that was left was this fragile mask. It might have her poise, the nuance of her thoughts, but it was not _her_ and it could never be again. Nothing remained of his Talia, just this silent doppelganger, which had outlived her in the manner of dead stars whose light reached earth long after they had been extinguished.

'Miss Winters,' he greeted her, catching the flash of _curiosity/intrigue/amusement_ that her P5 defences could not quite hide – so she had noticed his attention. That was not all she leaked – although you would need to be a P12 to catch the answering flash of interest on her part. It brought back memories of Mars, and her presence in his rooms. 'I always had a thing for authority figures,' she had confessed as they lay together on his bed. 'Something about the uniforms!'

He could have her again if he wanted to. Not forever – this Talia did not have forever, but for a little while. It would ease some measure of the bitterness that had coiled up within him since he had first learnt of her fate.

Then his thoughts flashed back to Daniels, and an offhand remark about 'sampling the goods.' And the temptation passed.

When the time came to scan her he was deliberately intrusive, taking no pains to hide his disdain for what he saw. It was not until her smile was vanished, and the attraction between them replaced with hostility that he could breathe easily again. And even then he could not leave the station fast enough.

It was the first time he had ever visited the Babylon Station, and he would never be able to separate the place with the memory of her.


End file.
